by Ian Shimwell
Act Two
DEBSY: Ah, there you are Trench.
TRENCH: Well, we did arrange to meet at the staff entrance.
DEBSY: So we did.
TRENCH: Are you ready for another delightful day at Devlin’s, Debsy?
DEBSY: That was a decidedly dodgy number of Ds - but yes I am ready to roam the store, if only I could remember the key code to this damn door.
TRENCH: Fortunately, I do.
(Suddenly, a loud and relentless yapping can be heard.)
DEBSY: It’s Snowy!
TRENCH: Oh yes. Hello Snowy.
(TRENCH’s answer is a deep and menacing growl.)
DEBSY: He doesn’t like you – come here, darling.
(Snowy’s growling changes into an aggressive bark.)
TRENCH: (Who laughs.) I envy the remarkable affinity you so obviously have with dogs, Debs.
DEBSY: Don’t start the dreaded Ds again.
(The barking becomes more frantic.)
DEBSY: Snowy may not exactly be our best friend, but… the strangest thing is – I think he wants to come inside the store.
TRENCH: Nonsense.
DEBSY: I dare you to leave the door open then.
TRENCH: I don’t think Devlin’s or Bridges would appreciate a dog running loose on top of everything else. So, I think we should dash inside when Snowy’s not looking.
DEBSY: Snowy, look at that big, juicy, succulent bone just behind you.
(Snowy gives a lighter, quizzical bark.)
DEBSY: Right quick Trenny – let’s go for it.
(TRENCH quickly presses the entry code and they dash inside, slamming the door behind them. Knowing he’s been tricked, Snowy starts howling sadly. Sad, seasonal music closes the scene.)
(We can hear background sounds of the store, as TRENCH studiously examines a toy.)
GELDA: So, Trench isn’t it? – what draws a security guard to such a toy? Surely it’s not a security risk?
TRENCH: Oh no, of course not err Gelda. Beautiful though, don’t you think?
GELDA: I suppose so. What is it?
TRENCH: It’s a combine harvester – and no, it’s not for me. I was just comparing quality and price.
GELDA: (Says mischievously:) Doing a survey, are we?
TRENCH: Now, I fear you are teasing me, Gelda.
GELDA: Only just a little bit.
TRENCH: I’ve just bought one for an old colleague’s toddler. Funny thing, at the time, a few years ago now – was that Sally-Anne wasn’t really trying and pop, suddenly she was pregnant. Sorry, I’m waffling on a bit here.
GELDA: (Says seriously:) It goes against the grain.
TRENCH: I suppose it does really – or processes it. A combine harvester actually cuts, threshes and finally cleans the grain.
GELDA: How err… fascinating.
TRENCH: Yes, Gelda. Gelda, are you German by any chance?
GELDA: Gelda? Long, long ago… yes. I fled my country of birth when I was only little. I was one of the first to get out before the Nazi persecution really started…
TRENCH: I’m sorry.
GELDA: Don’t be – I’ve had a full life here, a long life.
TRENCH: And you now sell cuckoo clocks.
GELDA: And I think it’s time I returned to my beloved Gerard and his clocks…
(GELDA moves away and is replaced by DEBSY.)
DEBSY: Well, what was all that about?
TRENCH: Would you believe combine harvesters?
DEBSY: As far as your concerned? Yes I would.
TRENCH: You’re just jealous, Debsy – that I’m not buying one for you.
DEBSY: Oh yes, madly. Right, while you Trenny were chatting-up dear Gelda – I checked out her husband.
TRENCH: (Who laughs slightly:) Chatting-up? She is a little bit old for me, don’t you think?
DEBSY: Oh, come on Trench – we both know you get on very well with old people.
TRENCH: Yes, well – did her hubby say anything of interest?
DEBSY: He did actually.
TRENCH: So, are you going to tell me – or are you going to continue your bad impression of being a real customer?
DEBSY: That was hurtful. And if I was a real customer, the first thing I would complain about would be the surly security guard on this floor.
TRENCH: You snitch.
DEBSY: I’ve been called worse. Now, we were talking about Gelda’s spouse.
TRENCH: Yes, you were trying to.
DEBSY: Gerard was actually quite informative.
TRENCH: What did he say?
DEBSY: I’ll tell you later.
TRENCH: (Who takes a deep, frustrated breath.) Why?
DEBSY: We have both been summoned to Devlin’s office.
TRENCH: I’ll see if I can fit him in after lunch.
DEBSY: Trench, Devlin’s the owner of this store.
TRENCH: Really? I wondered why it was called Devlin’s Department Store.
DEBSY: So, now you know. And from what I’ve heard about Devlin, you do not keep the man waiting, so come on.
TRENCH: Oh very well.
(More Christmas music changes the scene.)
DEVLIN: Ah, Trench and Debra. Come in, sit down and close the door.
DEBSY: (Says quietly to TRENCH.) But not necessarily in that order.
TRENCH: Shh.
(They sit down.)
DEBSY: Lovely office, Mr… Devlin.
DEVLIN: Firstly, I am right in believing that only I know you are working undercover here?
TRENCH: You are correct in that assumption, sir.
DEBSY: Yes, you’ve got about the gest of it, Denvers.
DEVLIN: As we all should know, person or persons unknown are plotting against my store at this busiest of Christmas times. I want to know what leads you have – and whom are your suspects.
DEBSY: I think Snowy, the dog is a very suspicious suspect, if you ask me.
TRENCH: (Says through gritted teeth:) I’m not asking you. (Then says normally:) Yes we are investigating various leads…
DEBSY: Really? Nobody told me.
TRENCH: (Says hushed but firmly:) Zip it Debsy. (The says normally:) And looking at several suspects, but at this stage, Mr Devlin – I don’t think it is appropriate to actually name names.
DEVLIN: I understand.
TRENCH: I can tell you that we believe the target of these ‘attacks’ is not your entire store though, just the first floor.
DEVLIN: How interesting.
DEBSY: I think so too.
DEVLIN: I wonder, the foreign couple…
DEBSY: Excuse me, Gerard’s not from Germany.
DEVLIN: No but, like his wife, he is Jewish.
TRENCH: Is that a problem, sir?
DEVLIN: That friend, depends entirely on whom one asks…
(Downbeat music closes out the scene.)
DEBSY: (Who is furious.) The racist, sexist pig!
TRENCH: Debsy, at least wait till we walk down the stairs and out of Devlin’s earshot.
(They start walking down the stairs.)
DEBSY: I don’t care if he does hear.
TRENCH: Maybe, but I do. Anyway, how come he’s sexist all of a sudden?
DEBSY: Did you not notice that he never directly spoke to me – not even once.
TRENCH: Now that was because you suddenly started acting all ridiculous. I mean, what was all that ‘the gest of it’ and ‘suspect Snowy’? What had got into you, Debsy?
DEBSY: Oh, I don’t know. I think it was possibly his insufferable arrogance and highly unattractive superiority complex that might have had something to do with it.
TRENCH: Nothing to do with his apparent dislike of Jews?
DEBSY: That certainly didn’t do him any favours.
TRENCH: Perhaps all this business working undercover is a double-bluff. Gelda and Gerard are Jewish after all…
DEBSY: Trench, are you thinking what I’m thinking?
TRENCH: I’m thinking that we at least add Devlin himself to our list of susp
ects…
DEBSY: We need to find out more about him.
TRENCH: And I’m going to do that while you keep an eye on things here.
DEBSY: How? And I don’t mean ‘keeping an eye on things’.
TRENCH: By talking to somebody who already knows at least one member of the Devlin family. The somebody who put us up to this.
DEBSY: Oh no – you’re going to have to chat with the dreaded Editor Law!
(Comical Christmas music changes the scene.)
(TRENCH knocks on the office door. Receiving no reply, he opens it.)
TRENCH: His office is empty, I wonder…
(TRENCH walks down the corridor and enters his own office. Typing can be heard, which abruptly stops.)
TRENCH: Editor Law, I can’t believe it – I have actually caught you working!
EDITOR LAW: Very amusing, Trench – but somebody has to hold the fort at the Herald while you two go gallivanting off shopping.
TRENCH: Now, now sir – it was at your request.
EDITOR LAW: At my request, as I was going to say. Have you come to help? I’ve a mountain of features to get through…
TRENCH: Err… actually no. I’ve come for some information, in relation to our ‘assignment’ on… Devlin.
EDITOR LAW: (Says disbelievingly:) Devlin? Don’t tell me he’s a suspect for wrecking his own store.
TRENCH: Possibly, but it’s more likely he’s some sort of target. So, the more I can find out about his background, the better.
EDITOR LAW: And how can I hope to help you with that?
TRENCH: When are you next due to play Devlin’s uncle at golf?
EDITOR LAW: Later today in fact – I’ve drawn against him in a club Christmas tournament match on the winter course.
TRENCH: Excellent. Make sure you have a chat with him later in the clubhouse.
EDITOR LAW: What on earth about?
TRENCH: Oh, I don’t know – try and delve into his family background, that sort of thing.
EDITOR LAW: There is only one problem with all this.
TRENCH: Which is?
EDITOR LAW: He’s a pretty quiet fellow, mostly keeps himself to himself… unless – oh no.
TRENCH: Come on, spit it out sir.
EDITOR LAW: His tongue only loosens when plied with alcohol.
TRENCH: Well, tonight Editor Law, is going to be one of those nights…
EDITOR LAW: …and he only drinks if he wins.
TRENCH: Any information could be vital to our investigation.
EDITOR LAW: Loose at golf? On purpose? Oh no, my day is becoming worse by the minute…
TRENCH: Call it a Christmas golfing present – or better still don’t.
EDITOR LAW: Trench – get out of err… your office.
(Christmas music moves things on.)
DEBSY: Trench, over here.
TRENCH: What is it?
(We can hear the clockwork cuckoo clocks and the cries from the excited children in the background.)
DEBSY: Look at the children, they seem almost magically enchanted by the cuckoo clocks.
TRENCH: And in Gerard – at work in his meticulous manner.
GELDA: Yes, I am proud of my husband.
TRENCH: Oh, hello Gelda. Do you ever help Gerard? Making the clocks?
GELDA: Only in a very basic way, Trench. I sometimes help with the easy things, like a wooden spindle or the springs, when my Gerard is busy. You think I would be more handy, though.
TRENCH: Really, why’s that?
GELDA: My stepfather was an electrician.
DEBSY: But you can’t change a plug? Don’t worry, Gelda – neither can I.
TRENCH: Isn’t it marvellous, though – look at all those little faces lit up with pure wonderment.
DEBSY: Yes, that is what Christmas is all about. I bet your kids are really proud of their dad – and you, of course, Gelda.
GELDA: We could never have children.
DEBSY: I’m sorry.
GELDA: Which makes my Gerard’s work all the more important. The cuckoo clocks are our babies, if you like.
TRENCH: Well, he certainly takes good care of them…
DEBSY: Ah, Mr Bridges, what can we do you for?
BRIDGES: This is becoming ridiculous – it’s getting worse. There is not one child looking around the toy department – they are transfixed by your damned clocks.
GELDA: Gerard, I think you should come out here for a moment.
GERARD: Whatever for, Gelda? (Reluctantly, GERARD puts his tools down and comes over to them.) Oh, it’s you – Bridges.
BRIDGES: Yes, it’s me.
GERARD: Well, what do you want?
BRIDGES: What do I want? I want you to stop tinkering with those clocks just for a couple of hours.
GERARD: I can’t, I have a backlog of orders to fulfil.
BRIDGES: You always have a backlog of orders. Just do it – or I’ll report you to Devlin, and have him end your lease or something.
GERARD: You do that – and I wish you good luck. Gelda, come – we will break off for lunch – and then I’ll be back to nurture more cuckoos…
(GERARD and GELDA leave the scene.)
BRIDGES: Unbelievable.
(TRENCH and DEBSY walk away from the clock stall. Suddenly, there is an almighty bang. Someone shouts ‘bomb!’ Another shouts ‘let’s get out of here.’)
BRIDGES: (Says loudly, but from a distance:) Stay calm. Evacuate the store in an orderly fashion, please.
DEBSY: What do you think?
TRENCH: I think it’s time to go. Right Debsy, nice and slow – heh, come back!
(Dramatic music evolves into something calmer and we change scene.)
OLD TOM: So, Trench, after all the commotion had died down..?
TRENCH: I discovered that the ‘bomb’ wasn’t a bomb – it was a rocket bang-a-boom.
OLD TOM: A what?
TRENCH: Simply a firework – but it worked well enough to severely damage another day’s trading at Devlin’s.
OLD TOM: And I would wager that said firework originated on the seemingly cursed first floor?
TRENCH: And you would win that wager, Old Tom.
OLD TOM: And when the rocket did go off, all our main suspects were out of view?
TRENCH: Unfortunately, yes.
OLD TOM: So, let’s put them in view now. Does Devlin have a motive for messing up his own store? Or more especially the first floor?
TRENCH: I’d say – he barely disguises his anti-Semitic tendencies.
OLD TOM: Which would provide him with a reason for being rid of the cuckoos by fair means or foul.
TRENCH: And Devlin’s family do originate from Germany – but that’s all Editor Law could prise from Devlin’s uncle after plying him with drink.
OLD TOM: I suspect there could be more to find out from the uncle. Tell your Editor Law he must try again.
TRENCH: Have yet ‘another one of those nights’ after dropping another round of golf? He’ll kill me.
OLD TOM: And floor manager, Bridges – he seems more than zealous in his aversion to clocks that go cuckoo.
TRENCH: Hmm, is it to maximise his profits, especially in the continually deserted toy department?
OLD TOM: Or is it something else?
TRENCH: Do you want some tea?
OLD TOM: And the clockmakers themselves, Gerard and Gelda – could they possibly have a motive?
TRENCH: Hmm, all Debsy discovered from Gerard is that they’ve been married forever… and met in England at a Synagogue apparently. I couldn’t honestly imagine a more harmless-looking couple. Mind you, they say Debsy’s harmless – and look at her!
OLD TOM: Yes, I will have that tea – and bring in three stale mince pies, will you?
TRENCH: Mince pies?
OLD TOM: They might help, Trench, get me in the mood – because we still have this most mysterious of Christmas mysteries to unwrap…
(A longer piece of mystery music indicates the end of Act Two.)
Act Three
DEBSY: Good morning, Trenny. It’ll be Christmas Eve later. How exciting is that?
TRENCH: It’s Christmas Eve now, Debs – as in today.
DEBSY: Even though it’s morning.
TRENCH: Yes, even though it’s morning. Now we’ve cleared that up, shall we delve into Devlin’s once more then?
DEBSY: Wait, can’t you hear it?
(There is a pause as TRENCH listens. Very faintly we can just hear the cuckoo clocks.)
TRENCH: The cuckoo clocks.
DEBSY: Look, the first floor window is slightly open – the cuckoo’s cuckoos must be coming from there.
(Suddenly, Snowy arrives on the scene, panting and barking excitedly.)
DEBSY: Snowy! Look, Trench – Snowy’s a stray.
TRENCH: How do you know?
DEBSY: The little tyke doesn’t have a collar.
TRENCH: I see…
DEBSY: Trench, aren’t you glad to see my favourite white bit of fluff?
TRENCH: Ahem. Even though I’m thrilled to see our seasonal snowy dog, I think we should have slipped inside before, when it was all clear.
DEBSY: It’s all right – here’s a stick. I’ll throw it.
(DEBSY throws the stick.)
TRENCH: While the mutt’s distracted – quick, inside – before it joins us.
DEBSY: Hey, what do you mean – mutt?
TRENCH: Hurry!
(Having rushed inside, they slam the door – leaving poor Snowy alone, as he returns with his stick. Snowy drops the stick and howls longingly at the door. Sad and thoughtful Christmas music changes the scene.)
TRENCH: Debsy, where’ve you been most of the morning – snooping for shoplifters or have you been hiding or something?
DEBSY: I’ve been… err something. I have actually been talking to the accounts manager of this place.
TRENCH: Bully for you… and?
DEBSY: And the dear man offered to buy me a cappuccino.
TRENCH: Did he now?
DEBSY: Anyway, while he was away – I did have a snoop round, and guess what – I found one very interesting nugget of information.
TRENCH: Debsy, let’s move away slightly – Bridges is hovering suspiciously just within earshot.
DEBSY: Oh, right.
(They move away slightly.)
DEBSY: I discovered that the lease on the cuckoo clock shop is practically half the price of a similar size stall on the second floor…
TRENCH: Hmm, I wonder why – and it provides yet another reason to be rid of the cuckoos. Good work, Debs.